


Lavellan's Pride

by girlandherbooks (ayizan)



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 07:27:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2764754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayizan/pseuds/girlandherbooks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A post-credits scene where Alessa Lavellan visits Solas's room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lavellan's Pride

He walked the halls for the last time, his bare feet made no sound on the cool stone floor. He couldn't linger but he did not rush. He had one task remaining. One final thing before he could leave.

It wasn't what he promised to her. He had lied to her so often, but he had promised the truth. If he didn't leave Skyhold immediately, he would be drawn back to her and his plans would fail. Again. She deserved the truth and more. She deserved someone who would stay and he could not. Mythal was waiting.

The brush strokes were broad, quick. He didn't have time to fill in the colour. The gold he had mixed, it matched her eyes, he used all his reserves to paint the last image. It was a clue, just for her.

The castle slowly came to life, but before the paint was dry Solas was gone.

 

She hadn't meant to go to his room. She couldn't quite tell what had woken her from a deep sleep that dawn but she felt like something was missing, an empty ache in her chest. So she wandered Skyhold as the servants bustled around, yawning as they cleaned the hearths and swept the floors from the night's celebration. They bowed as she passed, whispered _Inquisitor_ or _my lady_ or _your worship_. Training them out of using Herald of Andraste had taken time, but it was better than lying to them about what she was. She nodded and smiled at each. The titles would never be comfortable, but she had seen how people acted when they felt comfortable in their title, queen or king, templar or enchanter. Whether the title was earned or inherited, it led to pride and arrogance.

Her feet took her to his room, the circular base of the rookery tower. Some Orlaisian art expert had proclaimed it's beauty, the brushwork, the raw emotion, and had bemoaned the final blank panel. _Where is the artist?_ He asked. _It must be finished, to proclaim your victory!_ Josephine had distracted him then, led him away. She might have punched him.

She wandered the room aimlessly, touching the shard, a rare sort of paperweight, holding down the notes that lay scattered on his desk. They were all abandoned. Solas would not return for them. Or her.

She looked up at the walls, tracing her time with him from the start. He had been there, almost from the moment she had been... chosen? Interrupting Corypheus's ritual had been an accident, but Mother Giselle claimed that even accidents could be the will of the Maker. Her own gods were not so active in the affairs of her people. Not since the Great Betrayal.

With a start, she realized the last panel had been finished. It was so different from the others. The whitewashed stone as the background, with only the outline of Corypheus's defeat. In one muted colour it stood out against the vibrant blues and reds of the other panels. A dragon skewered by a sword. And a wolf.

 

Moments later she was rushing through the courtyard. _Cole, I must find Cole._

_How had they missed it?_ How had  **she** missed it? She was Dalish, she had been raised on all the tales. She had invoked his name as an oath in times of trouble. Every moment together, every little comment he made, the vallaslin...

She slipped in a muddy patch outside the inn, but caught herself before falling. She shook her head to clear her mind, it might not be true. The Wolf was a common image for the elvhen people and the rest of the panels had been stylized. Certainly the Orlaisian artist would claim some it was a symbol of the Inquisitor herself. But Cole had seen his thoughts, Cole would know.

She rushed up the stairs, past the Bull's snoring figure, around and up. The inn held both joy and sadness, Cole could feast and help from here.

He was awake. But as he turned to her, she jumped. His eyes were unfocused and his words...

“I'm sorry, Cole, but with your gift, I fear that you might see the path I now have to walk in solitude forever. This fate is mine alone. Indeed, I would not wish it on an enemy, much less someone that I once cared for. Though you reach out in compassion, I must now insist that you forget.”

And then, Cole was Cole again. He had no more answers.

 

Someone picked her up. She had collapsed before Cole and he must have called for help. The arms were strong and warm. But they were not  _ his  _ so she did not open her eyes until she was set down and left alone to her sorrows . She was the Inquisitor, she was to be an example for her people. They needed her. But she had been lied to, left behind, and abandoned. Curled up in her too-big bed, in her stone and silent room, she cried bitterly. Tomorrow she would be strong. Tomorrow she would lead the Inquisition on, to heal the scars left by Corypheus's plots. The world would grow and change and she would make it better.

Someday she would find him again. She had all the resources in the world. If she could defeat one presumptive god, Solas,  _ Fen'harel _ , could not hide from her. He wouldn't trick her again. There would be no  _ solitude forever _ , for either of them.  She was the Inquisitor, and the Wolf was hers. 


End file.
